


graven images

by drainz



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Character Study, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drainz/pseuds/drainz
Summary: For a long time those were the three things in your life that you could count on – that you had God, that you had Charlie, and that you were stupid. You still know all these things to be true.These being the only three cards in your hand – that you'll show – you play them up as need be. Your friends, for example, think you don't know. Of course you fucking know. You're stupid, not braindead.You're gay.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	graven images

**Author's Note:**

> canon-typical slurs ahead y'all

You don't remember when, exactly, it occurred to you that you are stupid. You know it must have been a cogent thought you had at some point, maybe one of your first, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like fundamental knowledge. Something you were born knowing. 

This never bothered you much more than anything else about yourself, honestly. Knowing it so intrinsically kept you from being hurt by it, coming home with report cards marked with Cs and Ds and exams with red pen under your name reading _See me._ Your mother, back when she was still prone to speaking, would come home from parent-teacher conferences and tell you that _God makes all kinds, Ronnie,_ and kiss your forehead, and you were content with that. 

It didn't hurt that Charlie never saw you as stupid, though. He might now; you're not sure. You wouldn't mind so much if he did. No one else had ever been so loyal. You and Charlie, you went together like lamb and tuna fish. The other kids probably thought that was because you were both retarded, but you knew that was bullshit. There's a difference between _retarded_ and _stupid,_ and there's different kinds of stupid, too. Charlie's elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor; yours just has a dim bulb in the light fixture. 

For a long time those were the three things in your life that you could count on – that you had God, that you had Charlie, and that you were stupid. You still know all these things to be true. 

These being the only three cards in your hand – that you'll show – you play them up as need be. Your friends, for example, think you don't know. Of course you fucking know. You're stupid, not braindead.

You're gay. 

It's not your fault, you know that. _God makes all kinds, Ronnie,_ and as much as you were baptized Catholic, as much as you were born stupid, you were born a faggot. You're like Job, you tell yourself. The Lord knows your faith is great, so He is testing you with hardship. 

You're gay. You know that you're gay. You've known that you're gay since high school. Maybe before that, in the back of your mind. 

But when you met Dennis Reynolds with his whitening-stripped smile that looked positively venomous, and he told you that he was the king of this school, of Philadelphia, of the world, really; that he was a god, and he'd be happy to teach you all he knew for the low, low price of a gram, your mind skipped right past _shalt not lie with man_ and straight to _shalt have no other gods before Me,_ because you believed him. 

You smoked him out under the bleachers; he was giggly and handsy and made fun of your name. 

He left with an eighth. 

Tribute at the altar of your false idol. 

Then you sat there and prayed a whole rosary high because you felt like a shitty Christian, and at home that night you had a nightmare about a whitening-stripped smile biting bruises into your skin. 

You're stupid, not braindead. You poured over Leviticus 18 like it would give you an answer you didn't already know. 

Then, the next day, when you saw him, he smiled and walked over, and as you smiled back, you sent up a silent prayer to Saint Jude, because you knew right then that you were a fucking lost cause. 

You still are.

**Author's Note:**

> i meant for this to be longer but it felt done here. i just really had a hankering to write mac. come hmu on tumblr @mysticmalarkey i need sunny friends


End file.
